Authors: The Companion
Ann Granger (18 page)
‘You can’t buy new if you’re poor!’ replied Bessie to my innocently expressed observation.
People of all descriptions pushed their way back and forth. Voices filled the air; some speaking tongues which were foreign to me, some speaking an English so guttural and distorted it might as well have been an alien language. Mangy dogs and scrawny children swarmed around us. We skipped over or bent our paths to avoid puddles of dubious origins. From time to time we passed a public house from which came a stench of beer and tobacco; unshaven men and slatternly women sat slumped on benches before the doors, pints of ale before them and small children crawled in the dirt at their feet with the inevitable flea-bitten mongrels.
I was glad when we left these by-ways to re-emerge into the main roads although the crush there was scarcely less, even if it was better dressed. As on the day I’d arrived I was amazed by the hurly-burly and the sheer number of vehicles of all kinds which
rattled by us. I knew we must be near the site of the Agar Town demolition work because, among all the others, the familiar wagonloads of debris rumbled past, filling our nostrils with brick dust.
rattled by us. I knew we must be near the site of the Agar Town demolition work because, among all the others, the familiar wagonloads of debris rumbled past, filling our nostrils with brick dust.
We had drawn level with an organ-grinder, a tattered individual accompanied by a sad little shrivelled monkey in a red jacket. Suddenly Bessie stopped and pointed ahead of us. ‘Look, miss, it’s the reverend gentleman!’
The monkey had been taught to react to passers-by who slowed their step or halted. It hopped forward holding in its tiny paws a little cloth-covered beaker. The expression in its eyes was the most mournful I had ever seen in any animal’s. I did not like the look of the musician and liked his discordant playing even less, but I could not refuse the monkey. That, of course, was the purpose of the poor beast’s use. So I searched for a penny as I tried to follow the direction of Bessie’s pointing finger at the same time.
I dropped the penny in the beaker and the monkey leapt up on to the barrel-organ. The man had stopped playing and removed the penny, putting it in his pocket before picking up the little animal by the back of the red jacket and dropping it carelessly down to the ground.
I wanted to advise him to use the creature more gently, though it would have done little use. But just then I saw the object of Bessie’s interest. A little way ahead of us a tall and stately form in a black frock coat, with silvery grey hair falling from beneath his hat brim to his collar, proceeded through the mob with the confident ease with which the Israelites must have crossed the Red Sea. As the crowd parted before him and re-formed behind, he simply swung his walking stick to encourage a small boy or dog out of his path, but might otherwise have been proceeding down an empty street. Even from the rear it was impossible to mistake him.
‘Why, it’s Dr Tibbett!’ I exclaimed.
As I spoke I saw, coming towards us and Dr Tibbett ahead of
us, two young women. They were well dressed, if in gaudy colours, and as they progressed they chatted animatedly together, putting me in mind of a pair of parakeets. Neither was more than nineteen years of age and both, although ostensibly engaged in what the other was saying, kept a weather eye open for any single man whose attention they were adept at engaging. At the same time, though they leaned their pretty heads close together, their smiles appeared directed towards these chance encounters.
us, two young women. They were well dressed, if in gaudy colours, and as they progressed they chatted animatedly together, putting me in mind of a pair of parakeets. Neither was more than nineteen years of age and both, although ostensibly engaged in what the other was saying, kept a weather eye open for any single man whose attention they were adept at engaging. At the same time, though they leaned their pretty heads close together, their smiles appeared directed towards these chance encounters.
I had already noticed, on our progress so far, that London’s streets seemed well supplied with women of this sort. In the poorer streets they had been scruffier and more brazen; here they attempted a certain style. Dr Tibbett must have noticed them. They were almost level with him. Then, to my surprise, all three stopped and some conversation between them began. Having heard his oft-expressed opinion of moral laxity, especially where young persons were concerned, I wondered what he was saying. Upbraiding them, perhaps? Begging them to reform? But no, the young women’s smiles were broader than ever and any attempt to pretend they were not meant for the gentleman abandoned. A discussion was taking place. I took Bessie’s shoulder and guided her into a shop doorway from where we might watch unobserved. I did not think Dr Tibbett would be pleased to see either of us.
An agreement was reached. Dr Tibbett turned to raise his walking stick and hail an approaching growler. He handed one of the young women up into it, first speaking briefly to the driver, who nodded. Tibbett hopped up into the growler in quite a sprightly manner; the driver shook the reins and the horse and cab clip-clopped towards us bearing its two passengers.
‘Look at that!’ said Bessie beside me in some admiration. ‘The reverend gentleman is going off with a ladybird!’
As she spoke, the growler rumbled past us and I just glimpsed, through its window, the ladybird in question lean forward and affectionately pinch the whiskered cheek of her companion. It may have been her normal action but it struck me as having
something of a return welcome about it, as if this was an old and valued friend (and customer).
something of a return welcome about it, as if this was an old and valued friend (and customer).
They had disappeared from sight. I was unable to restrain myself and burst out furiously, ‘The miserable old hypocrite!’
‘It’s all right, miss,’ soothed Bessie. ‘It’s what gentlemen do, isn’t it?’
An image flashed into my head at her words: that of Frank Carterton on the first night I had spent in London, leaving the house late after his aunt and I had retired, swinging his silver-topped cane and stepping out cheerfully. At the same moment the barrel-organ started up again, its sudden cacophony of tinny sounds seeming to mock me.
I thrust aside the image, and the sound of the music, and was recalled to where I was and with whom. I was also aware that the shopkeeper had observed us lurking in his doorway and was about to descend and urge us to come in and inspect the wares.
‘Bessie!’ I said firmly. ‘You must on no account speak of seeing Dr Tibbett today, ever! Do you understand me? You must not tell anyone below stairs or any friend you may have. It is most important.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Bessie, unperturbed. ‘I won’t say anything. Mrs Simms thinks the reverend gentleman is a walking miracle and if I was to say a word she’d beat me round the head with a soup ladle.’
The other young woman had reached us but we were of no interest to her and she strolled on. Viewed closer to hand I could see, despite her years and prettiness, there was a hardness to her features and eyes which betrayed a young spirit both corrupted and crushed. I felt a great sadness on her behalf, wondering at what tender age she had been introduced to such a life and what possible future, if any, she had.
We carried on, the jingle-jangle of the barrel-organ fading in our ears. At last we reached our destination. Here the traffic seemed even more frantic, if that were possible. Cabs and private
carriages arrived and decanted passengers of both sexes and all ages, boxes, portmanteaux and the occasional pet dog. Porters ran from inside the station to capture the new business. Other passengers accompanied by laden porters staggered out of the station and stood in bewilderment gazing at the scene before them as I had done. Around them wandered the customary idlers: louche young men and yet more women, sisters to the pair to whom Tibbett had spoken; beggars and ragamuffin children.
carriages arrived and decanted passengers of both sexes and all ages, boxes, portmanteaux and the occasional pet dog. Porters ran from inside the station to capture the new business. Other passengers accompanied by laden porters staggered out of the station and stood in bewilderment gazing at the scene before them as I had done. Around them wandered the customary idlers: louche young men and yet more women, sisters to the pair to whom Tibbett had spoken; beggars and ragamuffin children.
‘You watch out for your purse, miss!’ ordered Bessie. ‘There will be any number of dips working this place.’
But I was scanning the cab rank. ‘Keep your eyes open, Bessie, and if you see the cabbie who took Miss Hexham that day, tell me immediately before he takes another fare and we lose him!’
I was afraid we woald have a long wait or even be unsuccessful, for there was no guarantee that Mr Slater would return. He might be hailed en route and find business a-plenty to keep him away. After twenty minutes I began to think I had brought us both on a fool’s errand. I was gaining some strange looks. One or two men smiled at me and one tipped his hat and bid me ‘Good morning, my dear.’ At this my small duenna piped up with a fierce, ‘Here! Don’t you go calling my lady your dear, which she ain’t nor likely to be!’
Eventually one of the cabmen approached and asked if I wanted a cab. I told him no, but that I hoped to see Wally Slater.
He turned and called to his colleagues: ‘Anyone seen Wally out and about?’
‘I passed him in Oxford Street,’ called back one.
‘Anyone who sees him, tell him there’s a young female waiting here for him, along with a little girl!’
This well-meant instruction might only serve to confuse Wally, I thought, and make him stay away.
We waited for another ten minutes and I began to be worried that time was not in our favour. I could not keep Bessie from her duties in the kitchen for too long or I should not be able to ask for
her to come with me again. Besides, Mrs Parry would be rising and getting ready for the first event of her day: the light luncheon. She would be surprised not to see me there. But if I found Wally, then I must persuade him to come with me to Scotland Yard. That would take more time and, I suspected, a good deal of effort.
her to come with me again. Besides, Mrs Parry would be rising and getting ready for the first event of her day: the light luncheon. She would be surprised not to see me there. But if I found Wally, then I must persuade him to come with me to Scotland Yard. That would take more time and, I suspected, a good deal of effort.
At that moment a nearby cabman called out to me. ‘Here comes Wally now!’
Sure enough, a familiar growler and horse were coming our way. Bessie left my side and ran towards it waving her hands. The horse threw up its head and snorted. On the driver’s perch, Wally hauled on the reins and looked down at the bobbing bonnet by his feet.
‘What’s all this, then?’ he enquired.
‘Miss Martin wants to speak to you!’ Bessie shouted up at him.
‘Oh? Does she now? And who might she be and where might she be, then?’ he enquired.
I hurried to join them. ‘I’m Miss Martin. Oh, Mr Slater, do you remember me? Do say you do!’
‘Ah,’ said the cabbie, tilting his hat to the back of his head. ‘Now, how could I forget you? You’re the young lady what has a peculiar interest in the deceased.’
He hitched the reins and clambered down to join us.
‘Now then, what’s happened, eh?’ He looked from one to the other of us. ‘What’s it all about?’
‘You did say, Mr Slater, that if I needed help, I should seek you out,’ I reminded him.
‘I did say so,’ said the cabbie. ‘And I’m a man of my word. You may ask anyone here …’ His meaty paw swept through the air to indicate his fellow cabmen. ‘Wally Slater is a man of his word.’
‘Mr Slater,’ I began, ‘you took me to that address in Dorset Square, you do remember the house?’
He sucked his yellowed teeth and observed, ‘I might. Not but what I drive a lot of fares to a lot of houses. Not all in Dorset Square maybe.’
‘When I gave you that address, here at the station,’ I went on, ‘you didn’t remark on it apart from saying it was very nice. But when we got there, I believe you recognised the house because you asked me again, was it the right one? I thought it was only your manner of speaking at the time, but it wasn’t, was it? You remembered the house and it was after that you offered your help, should I need it.’
‘It may be,’ said Mr Slater. ‘I ain’t saying it is, but it may be. What’s gone wrong, then?’
The horse tossed its head up and down and snickered.
‘Just a moment,’ said the cabman. He went to the rear of the growler and unhooked a nosebag which he took to the horse and hitched over its head. I had been in London long enough to notice that, compared with some of the horses drawing other growlers, Wally’s horse appeared well cared for. I had seen some sad sights of poor overworked beasts stumbling along, hardly able to haul their load, although horses hitched to the hansom cabs, on the other hand, appeared of better type and better turned out.
‘Since it seems we’re taking a rest, the ’orse might as well ‘ave his dinner. I don’t say I wouldn’t mind mine,’ he observed.
‘Mr Slater, I will buy you dinner, if you will only listen!’ I begged. I pushed Bessie forward. ‘Do you remember this young girl?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said the cabman promptly. ‘I can’t be remembering scraps of little ’uns like her. Ten to a penny, her sort.’
‘Yus, you do!’ snapped my valiant little companion. ‘You remember me. I see it in your face. I remember your face, all right. There ain’t another like it.’
The cabbie stared down at her. ‘Like as not, there isn’t. This face is a record of my career in the prize ring.’
‘You told me that before and all. I asked you to wait round the corner for a young lady,’ said Bessie. ‘And you did, didn’t you? Don’t go saying you don’t remember.’
‘Hush, Bessie,’ I ordered because I feared her peremptory tone might upset the man. ‘Mr Slater, that young lady was my predecessor as companion to the lady of that house and she is now dead. I mean the young lady is dead.’
Mr Slater solemnly removed his hat and held it against his broad chest. ‘I am sorry to hear it, miss. God rest her soul.’ He glanced piously skywards and replaced the hat on his head.
‘Do you remember, as we drove to Dorset Square, we passed by several wagons taking rubble from the Agar Town site for the new railway terminus? One of the wagons carried a dead body found there. That body, Mr Slater, was of the young lady in question.’
Mr Slater blinked and observed, ‘Lord, lumme. Are you sure about that, miss?’
‘I am more than certain, Mr Slater. I wish it were not so, but it is. Do you see why it is so important that you try and remember where you drove her to that day? Please say you remember!’
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